


Drowning

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 12:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Thrawn has captured Hera. He takes a personal interest in interrogating her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My id went there the first time he creeped on her back in "Hera's Heroes." Minor spoilers for "Zero Hour."

She tests her bonds again. Hera has no doubt her hands have been secured, but it would not be above her captor to allow her a deceptive opportunity. He might order her to be bound with one centimeter of give, enough to allow her hope, allow her a plan, allow her to perform for his observation. Her only remaining hope for survival is discovering whatever opening he has given her and using it against him.

She doesn't have that centimeter of give, and each of her ankles is fastened to a leg of the chair, which is bolted to the floor.

He's watching her now. She can't see the electronic eye observing her discomfort as her arms grow numb from the position. That doesn't matter. Thrawn is observing every movement she makes, standing in quiet contemplation in some room not far from this cold, empty cell. He is noting every sign of fear, every blink of her eyes as she considers her dwindling options. He is performing his own calculations as she assesses her odds of walking out of here alive. He will leave her to sit and squirm and worry until he's judged Hera is sufficiently wound up. Then the interrogation will begin.

She can't control the twitch, considering the certainty facing her. From what she's noticed, Thrawn considers himself too elegant to torture his prisoner personally. He'll give the order, but he won't stoop to striking her himself. The intelligence they've received on the newest pain droids runs through her memory: the clinical cleanliness of needles, drugs, and scientifically-determined shocks. Thrawn would appreciate the cold implacability of a machine over the more brutal methods of other Imperials. Other commanders would order several Stormtroopers into the cell with her and beat her until she lay barely breathing in a puddle of her own blood. She's seen the aftermath of those torture sessions.

Hera stills herself. He is encouraging her to sit here marinating in her own fears. She closes her eyes and focuses on her victories.

They knew the convoy's safety was compromised. She knew Thrawn would let the other Rebel ships slip through his grasp if he believed he had a chance to capture her when she peeled off from the others and engaged the Imperial ships attacking them. She took the risk and she forbade anyone else from taking it with her. He seized Hera and her beloved ship, but the only other crew member aboard was Chopper, and she ordered him to jettison as the tractor beam dragged the Ghost into the waiting maw of the Star Destroyer's hangar.

The convoy escaped. Her friends, her family, are all safe. Rebel Command will understand the choice she made, and won't risk any lives on an attempted rescue. A thin smile works its way over her face.

The door opens. Her chair faces away from the entrance, meaning she can't see who enters and exits. She can hear more than one set of footsteps, which is the only warning she has before there's a ringing thud of a fist against the back of her head. Her teeth clash together in pain as her head lolls.

Not Thrawn. One of the others. She doesn't have to recognize or care who the "Rebel scum!" is coming from, as long as she anticipates the second blow and moves with the punch instead of against it. She's less effective dodging the third blow.

Hera seriously considers meeting the next one head on, hoping for a concussion. Unconsciousness will buy her a little more time before the main event. Thrawn will want her wide awake for that.

"Really, Commander," he says in the intense yet bored drawl she's come to know and despise. "What do you think you'll accomplish this way?"

"Teaching this Rebel a lesson she won't forget."

She hears Thrawn's deep sigh. "If you continue to thrash her head, you may make her forget precisely the information I'm interested in obtaining from her. Leave us."

"Are you certain, Admiral? I can post a guard."

"Commander, are you suggesting I am in some kind of danger from a tied-up prisoner?"

"No, sir. Sorry, sir."

She hears feet moving, and hears the door close. She can't see anything until Thrawn steps in front of her. He reaches up to the ceiling over her head, and she hears a click as the electronic eye is disabled. They're alone, and no one will spy upon what happens here.

He walks behind her again. Her skin crawls as she feels the warmth of another body leaning up against her. His breath touches the back of her neck. "Hello, Captain Syndulla."

Words have done her no good against him. She doesn't respond.

"Not even a greeting? After I've spent all this effort arranging for us to spend time together? I'm hurt." The faint gusts of air chill her. "I would expect some defiant declaration about the beauty of freedom and the righteousness of your cause by now."

The only power she has left is her silence. The only hope he's offering her is his continued speech, coaxing her into rival banter. Each moment he's talking is a moment he's not extracting secrets from her with hot pincers, another moment the fleet has to get further into safety, to determine how much risk her capture has placed them in, and to develop a plan to counteract the little intel Hera will allow herself to give in exchange for making Thrawn believe she's told him everything she knows.

When Hera is certain the rest are out of all possible reach, then she will need to turn her own attention to her predicament and decide if she has any chance of escape, or if her final hope is to die before she reveals anything critical.

She's not going to think about anyone else now. She's not going to wonder if they're worried about her, or upset at her capture, or planning something unwise on her behalf. Those she loves are her strongest bulwark and her weakest crack, and Thrawn knows this. Concern for them now will only play into his games.

The bare skin of his ungloved hand touches her neck. Hera shudders.

"Do you believe he's coming to rescue you?"

She is sure he's not psychic. She's sure he has merely watched her and deduced the pattern of her thoughts. That's not comforting.

"Come now," Thrawn says, and his lips ghost against her cheek. "Your droid is gone and cannot place charges at your command. I think not even a Jedi can call down a storm in space. What possible hope do you have of someone flying to your aid this time?"

He wants her to say it. He wants her to tell him her plan is to wait him out, that she doesn't expect a last-minute reprieve. He knows. He has to know. It's not as much fun if Hera doesn't play along. She prefers her own games.

She says, "You've figured it out. The entire Rebel fleet is on their way here. We've commandeered hundreds of vessels from worlds across the galaxy. They're converging on your position right now, following a signal I have hidden in my boot. Our latest weapons will bombard your ship with unrelenting bursts of cheese and fish."

The hand against the back of her throat squeezes for a fraction of a second with a flash of anger and annoyance he wasn't expecting to feel.

Her plan may have to change if she can goad him into killing her swiftly.

The moment passes. She can feel the rigid control he exerts over himself returning to form. "Don't be disappointing," he says, his face well above hers now.

"You want me to talk to you about freedom? You already know everything I and the Rebellion stand for. The Empire holds the worlds of the galaxy in terror. We're showing them they can stand up to you."

"You're going to die for standing up against the Emperor."

"Others will stand in my place. You can only kill me once. Though with the number of times you've tried and failed, I'm starting to wonder if you can even do that."

The hand on her neck slides over her skin and contracts into a fist, which presses against her throat. She isn't afraid to die. She scolds herself to be calm. Her mother is waiting for her in the next world, along with too many friends. She will not fear the end. She will celebrate the chance to walk into their welcoming embrace.

The fist relaxes. Thrawn's fingers spread out. He slips his hand under the collar of her flight suit, pressing against the skin he finds over her suddenly frantic heart. Without intending to, she moves her arms, testing the strength of her bonds again.

She hears the intake of his breath, a delighted gasp, inaudible to anyone who hasn't spent the last several minutes straining for every sound. He's found the means to startle her.

Hera finds herself praying the pain droids show up soon.

"Twi'lek physiology is fascinating, don't you think?" His fingers stay where they are. "Scientists are still arguing if your people evolved naturally, or if they were intentionally created from pre-existing genetic material. I haven't had the time to read all the recent research myself, but the abstracts of the latest papers from the Empire's experimental arm have been intriguing."

Experimenting on sentients is outlawed, even in the Empire. She shouldn't be surprised to discover they don't follow their own rules.

"What did they teach you when you were a schoolchild?"

"The Empire bombed the schools in my province."

"But your father had wealth and influence, and you had tutors. Surely the topic arose during your studies of biology."

"I was always more interested in mechanics."

"Pity. I imagine you'd provide quite the debate. I favor the belief that the Twi'lek race isn't a true species at all. There are far too many genetic similarities to humans to be ignored. Some master geneticist in the distant past must have blended the desired traits together." His free hand strokes down her left lek, and she suppresses another shudder. "Large, beautiful brains, and a will bred to submit." His other hand moves lower, under her breast band, touching the sensitive skin he finds. "You are too perfect as servants. No wonder your planet has been overrun so often."

"I paid attention during my history lessons. We always shake free of our tyrants. Every time." She can't keep her voice calm, and she curses herself for the betrayal. Thrawn knows he's getting to her. She doesn't have to make it easy on him.

"But not until after they've taken everything they want from you." He leans closer again. The hand that touched her lek grasps the neck of her cap, and yanks it roughly over her face, past her lekku. Her head is exposed. Shame, she hears the small voice inside her mind. Shameful girl, revealing herself this way like a common whore. A lifetime of social pressure tells her she's undressed. Warm embarrassment flushes through her.

If he touches her head, she won't be able to prevent the scream. Instead, his lips are against the cone of one ear.

"The design of the females of your species is the greatest evidence against natural evolution. You retain few of the original mammalian traits, but the designer left in some aesthetically desirable secondary characteristics." He tweaks one breast in vague curiosity. "Adult males are unattractive but strong, capable of labor, yet adult females are proverbial for matching human standards of physical beauty."

Thrawn is grotesque, but not more than many others who've been lured by her charms. Hera swallows her disgust. "And your species?"

"Is unimportant now," he says. "We're discussing you, Captain. Twi'lek females are highly prized as slaves and servants, not merely for your appearance. Your bodies are also fascinatingly human, enough so that the two species can interbreed. It's not a common occurrence, but there are several documented cases of successful offspring, which gives strong credence to the theory that you all were once human, long ago." His mouth brushes her ear. "Before your creator turned you into his playthings. How else can you explain the incredibly tight muscles here?"

He hasn't stopped touching her breast. His other hand reaches down to push one thumb between her clad thighs. She won't reply. Nothing she says will stop what he plans to do to her. She will clear her mind of everything.

Thrawn says, "To mate, your body must enter into a relaxed state. Some slavers achieve this with drugs, others with the simpler if more savage expedient of inserting pegs of increasing size until the muscle is forced open sufficiently for copulation." His thumb presses, rubbing uncomfortably against the fabric of her suit. "Women are discouraged culturally from performing this themselves, but nevertheless Ryloth has a brisk trade in thin, sturdy rods which provide both pressure and stimulation with or without the help of another. A thoughtful, gentle lover will open you with care, fingers sliding in to coax you apart, comforting kisses against your mouth and neck and elsewhere, offering patience. The surrounding muscle remains tight but flexible during subsequent penetration with a partner's sexual organ or other object. This process is said to be highly pleasurable. I would be interested to hear your opinion based on your previous experiences."

She hears his breath catch. He's hurting her, but more enticingly for him, he's humiliating her, and it's bringing him pleasure of his own. The gorge rises in her throat.

"The opposite is also true, of course. An ungentle lover will forgo even the simplest preparation, thrusting and ravishing with no thought except for his own needs. This is said to bring intense pain for the female. With enough sessions, the muscle permanently relaxes, relieving the pain but also decreasing any possible pleasure." He twists both hands, squeezing a breast and grinding his thumb against her, hard. "Tell me, how gentle is your lover?"

Hera bites her lip and refuses to look at him, refuses to speak, refuses to let him reach inside her head more than he's already dug.

"There are five guards outside the door. I can order a dozen more here in less than a minute. They are....not gentle. One might even say they lack finesse, and I guarantee they lack a sense of humor about the many Imperial troops killed by your Rebellion under your command. I regret to say some few might even be vindictive, given an opportunity."

He removes both hands from where he's been touching her. She knows better than to breathe easy. She expects his firm grip against the collar of her flight suit. She grits her teeth against the bitter rip of the fabric as he tears it in half down the front, pulling it over the shoulders to put more pressure behind her.

Her arms hang limp with prickled, agonizing heat from their confinement. Hera closes her eyes and focuses on the dull pain, wrapping herself in it, hiding away her entire consciousness inside the grey darkness. Far away, she feels Thrawn stand and move to the door. He's going to order the guards inside. He's going to watch as they hurt her, over and over, and when the last trooper is finished with her, perhaps the Grand Admiral will take his own turn.

He hasn't asked her a single question yet.

"One moment," he says to her, almost pleasantly, and shuts the cell door. She struggles at her bonds again, sending icy daggers of solid pain through her shoulders. Cool air crawls over her skin with a chilly creep.

She strains, listening for the cell door opening, terror closing her throat. Every march she hears down the corridor outside sends a fresh jolt of horror. Five outside, a dozen more at his call. Hundreds or thousands aboard this ship. She won't die screaming. She'll have already shouted her throat raw long before they finish with her.

At last, the door opens behind her. "Captain, I see you're still here."

Hera can't stop shaking. Thrawn approaches her, and places a hand on her bare shoulder, and she flinches.

She hears the light hum of the pain droid floating in after him.

"I have some questions for you," he says calmly. "I do hope you intend to cooperate."

There is no hope. There is no help. There is nothing but the huge globe of the dark droid, floating with deadly import, and the heavy hand on her bare shoulder. He has given her the threat in front of her, and the threat of what will happen if she displeases him. Terror has done his work for him.

Deep inside, one last shred of her will stands. If she gives up a piece of intel now and someone in the Rebellion dies as a result, could she bear to live with herself for having confessed because she's scared?

She can't move her legs. Her arms burn with pain. Hera tilts her head up to look at Thrawn. With a bravery she doesn't feel, she says, "You're going to lose."

He frowns. "How disappointing."

The droid floats closer, a sizzle of power charging through its front probes.

The newer droids are far more effective than the previous model, Hera thinks inside a personal bubble of pain. She pays attention to voltages as she shrieks. Through bleary eyes, she peers at the injector to determine what she can about the dose shoving into her veins. Information. If she lives, she can share the information.

She wants to sleep. She wants to hold on to the last of her muscle control. She wants to grab Thrawn by his stiff neck and strangle him. She wants to weep.

From a long distance away, the ship around them rumbles. Thrawn commands the droid to stop and opens the door. "Guards, step inside." Her nerves jangle and snap in residual pain. If she taunts them, perhaps they'll shoot her. "Watch the prisoner." The cell door closes.

The droid hovers with menace beside her, lurking at the edge of her vision. Every sense that isn't deadened from agony is attuned to the unseen movements of her captors. Thrawn didn't give them the order to continue torturing her. That means very little when he's left them alone without surveillance in the company of a bound and half-naked prisoner. It offers him an alibi.

"You know," says one Stormtrooper after a while. "I lost a lot of friends during the last Rebel raid on Lothal. The Admiral said this is the tailhead who masterminded the attack." She can't see him. She can hear his gloves shift their grip on his blaster.

"That's what I heard," his friend replies. His armor creaks as he steps closer.

She can admit to fear. She won't let her fear win with such petty allies aiding its attempt to control her.

Her voice comes out slurred. "You won't believe what I have planned next."

The door explodes inwards with a loud bang. The two guards are thrust backwards with the force of the flying door, and fall to quick stun blasts. The droid sparks apart with a third, more lethal blast. Hera's ears ring, but she can still hear the muttered curse as Sabine says, "Used too much charge." She's beside Hera in a second, her mask covering her face. Her body language speaks plenty as she takes in the situation. Her hands fumble with her cutters to slice the bonds from Hera's legs, and move to free her wrists.

"You shouldn't have come," Hera tries to say, but the words are hard to form.

"That's what Command said, too." There's a quick stutter of static on her commlink. The rest of the team has secured the Ghost. She's too tired to joke about putting in a good word for the team when they're all court-martialed.

Blood rushes painfully back to her hands as Hera moves her arms for the first time in hours. Sabine reaches to touch her face, then recoils back, not wanting to touch her if she's not ready. "Can you walk?"

"I can try." Her legs don't want to hold her, and she stumbles against her friend. Upright, she draws her flight suit around herself again. Not all the fastenings are broken. Sabine shakes beside her, her own mind roiling with horror. Hera finds one last reserve of energy from deep inside for two loving lies. "It looks worse than it is. I'll be all right."

Her cap is on the floor. Sabine helps her bend down to grasp it. They don't have time to delay, but that doesn't stop Sabine from helping her slip the covering over her head before they stagger together through the broken door and out towards home.


End file.
